Taking Over Me
by DixonVixen93
Summary: Michonne sees more than just her dead boyfriend, after a while. Post Welcome To The Tombs. Merle/Michonne.


**I'm baaack. Ya'll miss me? **

**Here's a new story, post "Welcome To The Tombs". I own absolutely nothing.**

_**Taking Over Me**_

Michonne saw her dead boyfriend ever since he died at the start of the apocalypse. Although he had gotten to be a pompous bastard that thought that he could boss her around, the fact of the matter was that she had still fallen in love with him. And his death and reanimation had affected her, whether or not she wished to show it.

Here recently, though, she hadn't been seeing him. Michonne hadn't been seeing anything at all after she met Andrea; the dark-skinned survivor just dubbed the previous encounters her subconscious trying to deal with being all alone in the post-apocalyptic world. (Of course, having his walker-form on chains probably didn't make it any better.)

Now, she was starting to see another hallucination. Merle Dixon was dead, and she couldn't help but blame herself for it. Had she went with him to Woodbury, she could have helped him take care of the Governor. All Merle had wanted to do was protect his brother. Michonne had come to respect the fact that he was a good person, even if they had started off on a rough patch. But now they would never have the chance to repair that rough patch.

Michonne felt lost without her best friend Andrea, and hell, she even missed Merle's smug attitude, but she just supposed that it was all up to her to be the strong one. The young woman found herself staring out into the distance in her cell and, for a second, no one was there. Before she knew it, however, she was staring into the blue eyes of Merle Dixon.

She started back in bed, uselessly reaching for her katana. Michonne knew that he wasn't there; he just _couldn't_ be.

"_What's wrong, darlin'? Ya look like ya jus' saw a ghost_," he crouched down in front of her, chuckling to himself. Even as a ghost, he was still a smug bastard.

"Well, apparently I'm looking at one right now," she murmured, careful to keep her voice down. The last thing that she needed was for one of the Woodbury survivors, or even members of her own group to hear her. Rick was the only one who understood.

The hallucination, like he had come, disappeared at the blink of an eye. Michonne had to admit that she was really freaked out. Why did Merle decide to visit her, of all people? Shouldn't he bugging Daryl? She was convinced that this was a ghostly encounter, and not just a figment of her imagination.

She sighed and felt a shiver wrack through her curvy frame. Michonne knew that she had an early day ahead of her tomorrow, but she couldn't help but wonder if Merle would come back and watch her sleep, or something creepy like that.

The dark-skinned survivor just shook her head and buried her face in her pillow. Something told her that she wasn't going to sleep well tonight. Michonne could practically still feel his presence.

o—o—o

Michonne was on a supply run by herself when her next encounter with Merle started. She held her horse at a steady trot, until she saw something from the corner of her eye. The dark-skinned survivor pulled on the reins, making her horse stop in his tracks. She looked over her shoulder to confirm her suspicions. There Merle was, leaning against the building she was heading for.

Again, she asked herself what he wanted from her.

"_Hey sweetheart, how ya holdin' up?_"

"Well," she retorted, "I was fine until you showed your ectoplasmic ass again."

Merle laughed. He didn't float like she imagined he would. In fact, he was as clear as day. If she hadn't have known any different, she would say that that was Merle Dixon, alive.

"What do you want from me, Merle? I did what you wanted me to do. I left," Michonne felt her throat thicken up as she just watched her former counterpart.

"_Oh, there ain't no gettin' rid o' me, Mute," _the dead redneck rasped, leaving his post to go to her side. "_I'm always around 'cause ya want me to be." _

"What are you talking about, Merle? Are you saying that I want you to haunt me?" Michonne asked, glaring down at the dead man before her.

Merle shrugged. "_You tell me, darlin'. I'm your hallucination." _

"Hallucination?" Michonne repeated, as if she was testing it on her tongue. "I thought you were a ghost."

The dead man started chuckling again; only it was louder than before. _"Oh, woman, ya crack my ass up. I ain't a ghost. I'm here all because you want me to be." _

If Michonne hadn't been through this before, she probably would have passed out from shock. She supposed that she was still as crazy as she was before. Of course, she understood why she hallucinated her boyfriend, but why was she hallucinating Merle? She didn't love him. She didn't, did she?

It didn't occur to her until he made physical contact, that she actually _was_ missing him. He touched her bare shoulder, and she shivered again in response. Sure, Michonne knew that she had come to respect him, but she hadn't pegged it any further than that. She was pretty sure that this was her subconscious' way of telling her that she had liked Merle Dixon, a little more than she should have.

"_Ya feel guilty about leavin' me, don'tcha?" _Merle asked, sitting back on his heels once, hands going in his pockets.

"I knew that you could take care of yourself…" Michonne began, which didn't actually answer her hallucination's question.

"_But,"_ he pried, quirking his graying eyebrows.

"I'm done talking to myself. I have to go on this supply run and get back to the prison," the katana-wielding survivor told her hallucination, tugging on her horse's reins once again.

"_I'll be 'round, darlin'," _Merle grinned, disappearing right before her very eyes.

Michonne shook her head. She didn't think she'd ever get used to this.

o—o—o

Finally, the young woman found herself with a moment to spare. She sat in the common room, legs drawn up to relax against her chest. Michonne was hallucinating Merle Dixon. The man that had tried to kill her—although, now as she thought about it, he had been under the charm of the Governor for over eight months. He had tried to apologize—whether or not that was just because he wanted to make his brother happy, she'll never know. To Michonne, that really stood out with her impression of Merle. He was loyal to his brother, no matter what.

Maybe she did grow to like him. Unfortunately, this hallucination didn't help any. If she harbored any romantic feelings for him, it was far too late now. And seeing Merle now was like pouring salt over an open wound.

Michonne glanced over at the chair across from her, and noticed that her imaginary redneck sat all relaxed. Feet kicked up, messing around with his prosthetic arm.

"_When you see the Governor again, take that other eye out for me, would ya Mute?"_

"I plan to do more than that," Michonne mumbled, brushing a hand through her dreadlocks. She sat there for a minute, making herself believe that Merle was really sitting across from her. The young woman found herself in a melancholy state when she told herself that he wasn't there. He would _never_ be there again. What could have happened, will never happen now. All of this hallucination has done nothing but bring her subconscious thoughts to life.

"…Michonne—are you alright?"

The dark-skinned survivor jerked herself out of her trance. She looked across the table to see Merle gone, which made her heart ache. Beth stood in front of her, large doe eyes soft with concern.

"Yes," Michonne stretched her legs back out, putting her feet on the floor again. "I suppose I just started to drift off."

Beth nodded, a tiny smile coming across her youthful face. "Come on, then, us girls are pitching together for dinner tonight." The seventeen-year-old offered Michonne an even brighter smile, one that she couldn't say no to.

The katana-wielding woman sent one last look back at the table. There was Merle, again, waving at her as she left the common room.

Michonne _wasn't _crazy. She _wasn't_.


End file.
